


Turn, Turn, Turn

by webcricket



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 14:11:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9610883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket
Summary: Devious Dean, sleepy Sam, clueless Castiel, riveting Reader, and did I mention the dancing? Oh, and fluff (was there even any question?).





	

“Well, I’m going out, who is coming with?” Dean whacked the back of your chair, causing you to jerk forward. Grabbing his freed jacket from behind you, he plunged an arm into the sleeve.

Scowling, you rubbed fists into your weary eyes, “Jesus Dean, we’ve been back what? All of five minutes?”

“And?” He held his arms wide open, a smug smirk plastered on his face, “Showered, shaved, and ready to rock.”

“Yeah, pass,” Sam shook his head, ran his fingers through his hair and slumped his forehead on the table.

“I’m getting too old for this shit,” you reclined back in the chair, arms dropping to swing limply at your sides, eyelids clamped shut, “I’m not moving another inch until tomorrow.”

“Seriously? Bunch of wusses,” Dean scoffed, “I’m like the oldest one here.”

Castiel cleared his throat from the corner of the room.

Dean pursed his lips, waving a palm toward the angel, “Yeah, okay, the oldest except for feathers over there.” He looked pointedly in Cas’ direction, wagging a finger, “But you don’t get a say here, energizer bunny.”

Derisively rolling his eyes, Cas crossed his arms and leaned further against the wall.

Dean swept behind your chair, rolling it around so he was standing square in front of you. He planted his hands on the arms and crouched down to mutter in your ear, “What if I said we were going to that dive you love?”

The smell of his freshly applied aftershave pleasantly stung your nose. You popped open a mistrustful eye to peer into his mischievous greens. He knew exactly how to press your buttons and you cursed internally at having let anyone, let alone a Winchester, get that close. “The one with the dance floor?” You hummed hopefully.

“Yeah sweetheart, that one,” Dean winked. Grinning suggestively, he slid your chair backward and rocked his shoulders to a silent beat.

Observing the brief exchange from the corner, Cas shuffled his feet, cocking his head curiously at the instantaneous change in your body language resulting from Dean’s words.

Eyes gleaming with excitement, you bolted upright, bounding to your feet, “Sammy, first dibs on the shower.” You whizzed, now a buzzing ball of energy, into the hall.

“What?” Sam raised his head to peer around the room, focus settling first on the angel.

Cas shrugged in response, “It appears we are going out after all.”

“Oh,” Sam looked down at his crumpled shirt and dingy jeans. Too exhausted to fight the group decision, he decided to go along with it and rose to go and get cleaned up.

Dean plopped into the empty chair, a self-satisfied grin possibly permanently etched onto his face, and swung his feet onto the table to wait for you and Sam to get ready, “And that is how it’s done. Any questions?”

Cas stepped to the center of the room, mouth forming a query.

Dean held up a palm, stopping the angel before he could speak, “Rhetorical question, Cas.”

Cas irascibly narrowed his eyes.

* * * * *

For whatever physical energy you lacked earlier in the evening, the bass beat of the blaring music of the bar acted as ample substitute. Per the usual arrangement in exchange for coming to your favorite hangout, you served as Dean’s proverbial wingman so he didn’t actually have to dance to meet someone, and he disappeared with a lovely brunette a couple of hours ago after slipping Sam the car keys. Sam, in turn, slipped you the keys - after a few beers, a successful game of pool, and an irrepressible fit of yawning, he’d elected to sleep it off in the back seat while you continued to enjoy yourself. And Cas did what Cas always did – tucked himself detachedly into a corner and watched the room. If it were anyone else, it’d be downright creepy behavior - but it wasn’t anyone, it was Cas, and you absolutely craved his attention any way you could get it. Every time you glanced his way, dipped in another man’s arms, spun on your toes, snapped backward with a jolt, his blue eyes were locked on you - features ever placid, the pint of beer on the table before him untouched. You danced for the angel, the strangers in the bar mere stand-ins for who you really wanted – and as far as you could determine, the angel was either oblivious or worse, not interested. The energetic vibe of the music lowered noticeably when the bartender made a final call for alcohol, indicating closing time was near.

You ordered a parting shot of whisky, neat, and slid into the booth beside the angel.

His dark blue eyes dropped their consideration to the pool of condensation oozing beneath the luke-warm beer glass.

Again, typical Cas - he couldn’t keep his eyes off you the whole night, and now here you were right in front of him, breathless, glowing, wanting, and he couldn’t even look at you.

A slow song burbled from the speakers, the remaining couples out on the floor snuggling up close, arms draped around each other so it was impossible to see where one form began and the other ended. You downed your whisky, setting the shot glass upside-down on the table with a clink. Warmed by alcohol courage, you clasped your fingers around the angel’s wrist.

His blue eyes flew open wide to meet yours.

“Dance with me,” it wasn’t a question or a request – more of a dare. Slipping from the booth, you tugged his arm encouragingly.

He resisted, unmovable, uncertainty flashing over his countenance as anxious eyes darted between you, the dancing couples, and the exit.

In the moment of hesitation, another voice touched your ears, “Last dance?”

You turned to look at the man, a lanky university student you already shared several dances with that evening. Your eyes drifted back to the angel – he was again scrutinizing his glass.

“Sure,” you sighed, forcing a friendly smile, allowing the man to guide you onto floor.

When you dared spare a glance over your shoulder toward the angel, the booth was empty.

* * * * *

You peaked in the rear view mirror, viewing Sam’s snoring figure in the back seat. You were fairly certain it was Sam’s intention that you wake him when you were ready to go home, but you couldn’t resist the chance to drive the Impala, even if it meant you would never be trusted with the keys again once Dean found out. You tittered quietly with amusement. Eyes flitting back to the road, a figure walking along the side caught your notice. As you drew closer, you recognized the billowing tan trench coat and eased your foot on the brake. Rolling to a stop, you pressed the clutch, threw it in park, and swung the door open.

“Cas!” You whisper-shouted up the road.

Illuminated by the headlights, the angel halted, shoulders slumped dejectedly as he pivoted to face the car. You hopped out, carefully shutting the door, peeping into the back window to ensure Sam hadn’t been disturbed. Trotting up to join the angel, your tone remained hushed, “What are you doing?”

“Walking,” he stated matter-of-factly, voice low, mirroring your own.

“I can see that, but why?” You rubbed your bare arms as defense against the cool morning air.

His blue eyes furtively glinted over yours, moving upward to gaze at the dawn lightening sky.

Shaking your head at his silence, figuring he was being his usual mysterious self, no explanation required, you spun toward the Impala, “Nevermind Cas, just get in.”

Cas’ long fingers caught your wrist, “I-I don’t know how.”

“To get in the car?” You regarded him, eyebrow arched askance, with utter confusion.

“To dance,” he shyly confessed, the slightest hint of pink caressing his cheeks as he fidgeted nervously.

“Oh,” you bit your lip hard, trying to reign in the grin threatening to overtake your features, “I can teach you.”

Cas’ twinkling blues met your gaze, “But there isn’t any music.”

“Music is just an excuse, we don’t need it,” you moved forward, standing toe to toe, chest grazing his. You watched his throat sharply bob at your proximity, trusting blue eyes analyzing your every movement. You first grasped his right hand, guiding the flat of his palm to the small of your back and pressing it in firm for emphasis. Holding up your right arm, you gestured for him to do the same with his left - wrapping your fingers over his open palm and drawing your intertwined hands level to your shoulder. Your free arm wound behind his neck - leaning up on your tip toes, lips ghosting over his ear, you whispered, “Cas, relax.”

He complied, tense muscles melting against your frame, fingers gently prodding your back, easing your bodies impossibly closer together.

Resting your cheek on his shoulder, sighing into his warm embrace, you swayed sideways, coaxing him to move along with you. After a few steps, you let him take the lead.

“Am I, I mean, are we?” He intoned gravelly.

“Yes,” you nodded against his shoulder, “yes Cas, we are.”

You could feel the smile on his lips when he nuzzled his nose into your hair.

* * * * *

Sam sat up in the back seat of the Impala, stretching his arms overhead and hitting the roof with a grimace. In the confusion of shaking off sleep, he glanced out the windshield, squinting, blinking, and rubbing at his slumber bleared eyes in disbelief at the two entangled figures dancing to their own music in the amber glow of the headlights. A dopey smile overwhelmed his mouth as he witnessed Cas clumsily spin and dip you before capturing your lips in a tender kiss.


End file.
